Protecting the Aristocracy From Mutants, Muslims, Mormons and Malcontents

During almost a decade when most of my salary was paid by FEMA I used to have to go to FEMA Regional Headquarters every quarter for meetings with people doing the same job I was doing in New Mexico, but from Oklahoma, Arkansas, Louisiana, Texas, and hmm if there’s another state in this FEMA Region I can’t recall it at the moment. But you get the idea.

Fairly dreadful meetings and nowhere near as interesting as the weeks spent in the training center at Emmitsburg, MD, or the various other meetings in places where there were Civil War battlegrounds to drift off and walk around on studying how those poor bastards delt with their differences of opinion.

But that’s another story for another time.

The Regional meetings for Emergency Management people and Flood Plain Management people were held on the top floor of an amazing bunker complex at FEMA Region 6 Headquarters outside Denton, Texas. A venal, truly hidebound lot of bureaucrats we were, too. Although the worst of us was nowhere near as anal, ugly, downright arrogant as the FEMA people.

And that was before 9/11 and FEMA becoming a part of Homeland Security. I hate to think how it must be today.

But what I wanted to tell you about is that bunker complex. Damnedest thing I’ve ever beheld this side of Carlsbad Caverns if it was set up for the US Congress, the 82nd Airborne Division and MD Anderson Hospital were all planned to be housed inside it. For a long, long while.

Just the parts I was allowed to visit and mull over were several stories underground and probably several acres diameter. Above ground under all the festooning of antenna, cable and concrete was a pillbox so the people underground could go up and peek out to shoot the occasional mutant, malcontent, or just enjoy the sight of all the devastation.

The first level entryway was a hallway with sprinklers to wash off the radioactivity lingering on anyone going inside, along with slots to allow shooting anyone who didn’t use soap or wash long enough. And just beyond that was a huge freezer for dragging the carcasses into of people who either got shot or didn’t get clear of the radiation quickly enough to avoid the blind staggers.

Nearby was a huge, amazing, pristine, empty hospital complex with supplies, stacked along the walls, equipment, tables, clean shining stainless steel waiting for some doctors to show up to treat any patients that might show up.

Next floor down was the ‘Continuity of Government’ facility. A place designated for the Governors of all the Region 6 States, their staffs, their families to wait out whatever difficulties led to them being there. Hallways with State Flags for each of the member States hung in front of entranceways to avoid Louisiana confusing itself with New Mexico.

An entire floor was devoted to warehousing food, water, all manner of supplies the people living down there would be consuming. Another floor devoted to Security and Military personnel, along with their equipment and ammunition. That floor also contained the communications equipment so’s they could talk to anyone who still was alive outside and able to speak English. Or to whomever else was left out there with radio equipment still working.

And those were just the floors I was allowed to visit. The FEMA folk hinted there was a lot more, winked knowingly, but wouldn’t discuss what was there.

Soothing thought, I found it, knowing the government had arranged for a place for all those folks I considered more important than regular people to get in out of the rain and keep doing whatever needed doing for the people outside with their eyeballs running down their faces and their flesh sloughing off.

I surely hope they’re still maintaining those bunkers. I’d hate to think the politicos aren’t being looked after if something happens.

I’d never learn about these things without you – I know you have no agenda so I believe I can trust what you tell me. As much as I trust anything that is. Thanks for sharing this, pretty damn cool things to know.

heretherebespiders: I caution you I sometimes stretch the truth for the sake of a good story, but I try not to disguise the fact I’ve done it. Precisely, Old Sol sometimes doesn’t talk to me, and my cats don’t have great command of the English language. But most of what I tell here is true, or so obviously false it couldn’t be mistaken for truth. Gracias, J

Welcome

I’m sharing it with you because there’s almost no likelihood you’ll believe it. This lunatic asylum I call my life has so many unexpected twists and turns I won’t even try to guess where it’s going. I’d suggest you try to find some laughs here. You won’t find wisdom. Good luck.